


The road to being alright

by Ichorite



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ichorite/pseuds/Ichorite
Summary: Desmond does not die; instead, he spent the next few years after the solar flare recuperating in a hospital.A laboratory prison cell, to be honest.While figuring out how to escape, he spends some family bonding moment with people who should be dead.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	1. Three in One

**Author's Note:**

> VALHALLA SPOILER ALERT  
> Some stuff from Valhalla will be referenced here. 
> 
> No beta as usual, tags will update as story progress.

When Desmond first gained consciousness he could barely comprehend anything. Every part of his body was caressed in a slow cold current, brushed in gentle waves of iciness over his skin and he could feel the piercing chill rushing into his lungs with every breath. 

The cold hurt. It seeped deep into his body like a hundred needles and filled his bones with numbing intensity. He could not move his arms or legs, he doesn’t even know if he had his limbs, everything was too cold and he felt nothing. 

In the midst of the unknown a sense of urgency washed over him; Desmond remembers, there were people waiting for him to come back. He was certain there was someone looking for him, or he was looking for them. Regardless, he had to find them, to see them, to know he is not alone and that there is something for him out there. Eyes wide open- was it open?- he couldn’t tell; Desmond frantically tries to look around in the darkness in hopes to see something.

Anything.

Yet, there was nothing for him to see, not even a speck of light. 

Left to be suspended in darkness. Desmond was left to be nothing, to see nothing, to hear nothing, nothing but the touch of the unforgiving liquid frost kissing him everywhere. Fear begins to envelop his fragile form and the cold crawls deep into his mind.

He could feel his consciousness fading, and he is afraid this will be the last moment of his existence.

So he screams; and he keeps screaming until the nothingness swallows his mind again.

———

Desmond wakes up again, this time he was warm and his surroundings were illuminated with a dim light. The smell of a sterile room curls in his lungs with every breath he took; blinking slowly, his gaze traced the long and narrow grooves that make up the tiled ceiling. Every few tiles was embedded with a small flat ceiling light that made up the glow in his room.

He was lying flat on his back, the floor was a bit chilly but at least with the cold on his back he could ground himself.

With a groan he rolled over onto his stomach, his palms feebly slap next to his head to slowly push himself up onto his knees. Sitting on his heels he stared at a glass wall in front of him, beyond was an open space office suited for a team of scientists; advanced computers lined up on the large tables separated with low table partitions. One could easily look over the partition to speak to the person on the other side. But there was no one here, it was past work hours, given that it was empty and the screen monitors were off.

Great, so he was trapped in a containment cell like a lab rat.

...but why?

Rolling on his heels, he sat on his rear and kicked his legs out in front of him as he pressed his palms on top of his thigh, staring at the faint reflection of himself from the glass.

It was then, he realised; he did not remember who he was. Memories of himself too out of reach in his mind, he just knew he was Desmond.

Puzzled but too lost in his blank mind, Desmond sits in a lotus position and closed his eyes.

And tries to remember.

———

Desmond dreams.

He stood in front of a thick bundle of bright lines that rose from the ground, the bundle splintering and branching apart the further it grew away from the ground.

Beside him there was a silhouette of bright light and a female voice muttering to herself.

“I don’t like how out of all the variables you choose on the tree of probabilities, you picked the least viable one,” he knew she was frustrated even when her voice is neutral and her body of light swayed idly. 

Looking at the tree there was one low hanging branch that seem to droop away from the cluster, running far away and fading into nothing unlike the other branches that end with a small node of light. That was the branch he picked.

“This is beyond our calculation,” she warns, and he knew it was not the first time she said that.

“I know.” He replied, walking towards the end of the stray branch. It was a bit too high for him to touch, so he pushed his heels up to stand on his toes and gently brushed the faded end with his fingertips. He felt a connection with this branch, the only line out of the rest that felt tangible, reachable.

Attainable.

“But why pick it? You will put yourself in danger again” The woman urged him to show her his reason.

Dropping his hand, he looked at her.

“I’ve seen all the light that I can see here, it’s about time we went into the dark.”

The tree of probability ruptures.

———

His name is Desmond.

He came from a place called the Gray, with a purpose. 

He stands before the wall of glass, in front of scientists who were observing him quietly. They muttered to each other and wrote down notes on their tablet and Desmond stares at them blankly. The people were dressed simple, a suit with a white lab coat over their shoulders. There was a familiar logo above the lab coat breast pocket. Three blocks of colour, red, blue, yellow, arranged to make the shape of an equilateral triangle. 

A familiar logo, but not one he felt comfortable with.

Finally, a man steps forward to address him.

“Do you know who you are?”

No, not really. His memories were too dense in his mind to pick apart and too faded to recall, he knows some of the memories are not his, flitting around in the back of his mind taunting him of lives he never lived.

“I am Desmond.” He simply replied.

There was no reaction from the group, perhaps they already knew who he was. Maybe that’s why they put him in a cell, was he dangerous? The man continued, “could you tell us more about yourself?”

“No,” he hesitated, unsure of the right answer to give. “No I could not, I cannot unlock my memories.”

The man did not seem surprised or displeased by his answer, he simply nodded and returned to talking to the group. Eventually they left to their respective tables, some furiously typing away on the keyboard and a few stared at him with a thoughtful look on their face. They knew things he did not, but will they tell him?

With nothing else to do, Desmond sits cross legged in a lotus position again. This time, he observes. 

The world begins to fade into a haze, objects in his sight losing their vibrancy and details; he sees the world in a dull grey colour, and the people standing before him are bathed in a haunting red light.

He should not be here.

———

They tell him his name is Desmond Miles.

He had been gravely injured and nearly died, until the Abstergo Industries took him in and used their latest experimental medical technology to save him. They had left him in an empty containment cell to ensure he can be easily monitored and can’t harm himself if he ever experienced any...delirious side effects.

Desmond is not sure how to feel about it but wisely kept quiet.

Which leads him to now, sitting on a - frankly uncomfortable- stool with a table in front of him, a female employee on the other side of the table. A few days - he thinks it's been days- after he woke up they deemed him fit for further review and pulled him out of the cell. He was guided out of the office, down a long corridor to a small room that had no windows except for the one on the door. It made him think he was in an interrogation room which after a brief look around, he was probably right. Both the seats and table were bolted to the ground, and he can’t imagine that being done without a good reason; so he keeps his hands on his thighs, scrunching the white hospital scrubs he wore. The lady gives him a kind smile which he did not copy, staring at her with a neutral face. Unbothered, she begins talking.

“This is your first time out of the cell isn’t it. How are you feeling, Desmond?”

Unsure, mostly. Uncomfortable with the people surrounding him, he kept thinking of the red aura everyone illuminated and his mind kept screaming that he was in danger. While he could not read what is on their mind, he could tell their intentions were not kind. If he did anything that would alarm them, they would all turn on him.

“I’m feeling alright, just...lost.” He answered.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she continued. “I see, hopefully you will feel better soon as today we will focus on retrieving your lost memories. Now, I want to see how much you remember since your awakening. Please tell me what you can remember of yourself, give as many details as you can and do not worry about speaking too much, the more you share the better I can evaluate your progress.” She nods at Desmond to let him speak.

Exhaling sharply, Desmond looked down at his fingers before trying to recall. 

“ Um.. Alright. My name is Desmond Miles, I am-was 25 years old.”

So far so good, this information, he was certain. He knew they would ask about him and his memories sooner or later so he had tried to compile as much as he remembered beforehand.

“-I lived in the United States for as long as I can remember.” 

Except, this is as far as he could get before he started to have trouble.

“I was born in 1165 in Florence before moving to the States-”

The lady’s expression shifted minutely and began typing on her tablet.

“-somewhere in South Dakota called the Farm, and I had a teacher- a mentor, called Achilles. I have a sister called Claudia and a son called Darim...and that's all I remember.” He finished lamely.

Desmond stared at the women who was still typing furiously on the tablet before abruptly stopping to look at him with a strange look on her face. “Are you sure that is all?”

He stares at her for a moment before nodding his head, “yes, that is all.” She blinks at him before replying, “Desmond, you can’t be born in 1165, it's 2020 this year, the incident you had was in 2012.”

While he was not certain he was indeed born in 1165, he could only associate that year to when he was born.

Or when someone was born.

The lady switched off her tablet with a quiet sigh, “I will need to do more evaluation on the information you have given me so we will have to delay this session.” She smiled at him, “but let’s introduce you to a friend shall we? We brought him back the same way as we did with you and he’s been pretty lonely for a while.” Standing up, she ushered him out of the room and they were immediately flanked by guards who escorted them further down the hall.

“How many people were brought back the same way as I?” Desmond asked, he wondered if they all suffered the same memory problem as him but the woman did not seem like she expected this outcome, so it must be just him being an anomaly.

“Several people, actually. You will meet them all soon enough.”

He ends up being put in another containment cell with another man, the door locks behind him.

Pressing his hands down to his side, he stared at the other man who turned to look at him.

“Uh hey, I’m Desmond.”

The man stared at Desmond as if he witness something disturbing and in that moment it made him feel extremely self conscious, but the man was quick to respond before he could combust on the spot from awkwardness. 

“Desmond. I am Altair.”

Desmond looked at him closely, really looked at him.

Altair was gold.


	2. Too many, too tired

Altair, in Desmond's perspective, is a strange man. 

During their time together he managed to coax Altair into sitting down in one corner of the room to just chat and get to know each other- this cell did not have a glass panel, it was just four walls; he learns and observes a few things.

Altair is a man of few words, crude and straight to the point. He does not joke or make light of any situation- something he discovered when he joked about him acting like a goldfish and the man proceeds to list down- all highly unethical- ways people in the past would try to regain their memories. The man is also incredibly old, born in 1165 - what a coincidence- and died only to find himself here in the modern world. He does not know why he was brought back and refuses to share anything about his past, saying he would rather let it die with his past life.

Desmond wonders if Abstergo lied about him, that he actually died too. Was he meant to be dead?

Altair has a small scar on the right side of his lips, an injury he sustained from his youth. When Desmond asked about his missing finger the man simply said, “proof of commitment.” He then finds Altair’s wrist obscenely bare and looks away to his own wrist, wondering why their wrist looked so alien to him.

What commitment would ask one to sacrifice their finger? One that required a lifelong devotion.

He stares at his own fingers.

It felt too short before their time was up and the door to the containment cell opened. The guards stepped in and asked him to leave to let Altair rest. Reluctant, he stood up to walk away when his wrist was roughly grabbed, Altair staring at him intensely.

Desmond stood still, staring at the man in the eyes while hearing the guards shout something and started walking to them. Altair paid the guards no attention, still focused on Desmond as he spoke. “When you find your memories, tell me. I want to know who you are and why you look the way you are.” Before Desmond could reply, Altair let go of his wrist and took a few steps back, narrowly missing a baton that came sweeping down between the two by one of the guards who approached them.

Whatever Altair did- he was just grabbing his wrist that’s all - the guards did not like it. Desmond was roughly shoved out of Altair’s cell and practically manhandled back into his own cell. He was slightly miffed by the rough treatment but stayed quiet as usual.

The employees on the other side of the glass wall do not seem interested in him this time so he sits down in a lotus position in the middle of the room again. He had a feeling that something from his dreams would give him more answers than the people before him.

So he closes his eyes and falls into darkness once again. 

———

There was no dream this time and his eyes snapped open when he heard his cell being unlocked, a different female employee walks in and gives the same fake smile as the previous.

“Hello Desmond, how are you feeling?”

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt before rising up from the floor. “Feeling alright, a bit bored.” She hums, contemplating his response and turns on her tablet- are they really that obsessed with their work- to tap at a few things. Desmond waits patiently for her to address him again, he did not have to wait long.

“Are you interested in having lunch with the others? I know you usually have lunch on your own here but you seem well enough.”

Was this really a choice he was being given, or had she already decided for him and was just giving the illusion, he did not know but he did want to see Altair again. Even though the man was cryptic he was the only person he knew, and to be in a room of strangers he could really use some moral support -even if Altair had a personality of a log. 

“Will Altair be there?” He asked but was disappointed when she shook her head. “Not today, he was just escorted out of the dining hall just now for misbehaving. But the rest have been good, you’ll like them! They’re very sweet boys.”

Well, even if Altair wasn’t there, making connections would be good. He was escorted down a different hallway with the lady chatting to him about mundane things in her life (she has a dog), the work she does (bioscience), her colleagues (who are in the Abstergo Entertainment) and the world outside (stock prices are rising). Desmond tunes her out and reacts when necessary until they reach the dining hall. 

It was a decent size, the kitchen was partitioned away with only a pair of swinging doors to it. The hall was lined with rows of long tables and benches, probably enough for 40 people. Despite the lady implying there were a handful of people he was going to meet, it was empty except for several guards idling around and keeping watch on a pair of men at one of the tables. The lady gestures to follow her as they make their way to the table, the men growing quiet as soon as they notice her.

The two men could have been easily mistaken as siblings at first glance, with the way they tie their hair back into a low ponytail and their sharp features. As Desmond comes to stand before them, he knows they are definitely not siblings but certainly Europeans at least.

“Hello Arno, Ezio. I heard Altair was misbehaving today, terrible one that is. I hope he did not hurt either of you.” She greets. 

Hurt? Altair tried to hurt someone?

The man on the left side of the table lazily waved his hand in a dismissive manner, saying something in Italian before switching to English. “Not to worry, signora. Altair did not hurt us as you can see- we are quite fine.” She tittered at the smile the man gave her before looking at Desmond. “This one is Ezio, a real charmer I’d say, and this is Arno.” Arno was giving Desmond a curious look while she continued. “Arno, Ezio. This is Desmond, he is still recovering from his accident so do be gentle with him.”

“Desmond, huh… Pleased to meet you.” Ezio smiled although it was a bit stiff. A tray of food was placed next to Arno by a staff from the kitchen and Desmond was ushered to sit and eat, the woman left shortly after a quick chat with Ezio- something about checking on Altair.

He ate quietly with Arno, expecting Ezio to lead them into a conversation since he seemed like a chatty type. But it was quiet and when he looked up from his tray of food he found Ezio staring at him almost as intense as Altair, if not even more. “What? Is there food on my face?” He joked nervously, everyone seemed to know something about him and it’s starting to become frustrating not being able to fully access his memory.

“No, no food. Your name just sounds familiar.” Ezio smiled back, this time gentler and more sincere. Slightly embarrassed, Desmond placed his utensils down and looked away, “I’m... Sorry if you expect me to recognize you. I don’t have any access to my memory at all so I cannot retrieve any information about you.”

Ezio seemed disappointed by the response Desmond gave, “nothing at all? Not even my name reminds you of anything?” Somehow his disappointment felt extremely saddening and Desmond tries to recall the name Ezio.

There, in a memory so far away. He thinks that he knows Ezio.

“Maybe when I’ve fully recovered my memory I can try searching for your name.” Was all Desmond said, Ezio shrugged and dropped the subject when Arno piped up. “Why do you speak that way?”

Caught off guard, Desmond said nothing and Arno took it as needing to explain himself further. “The words you use, it is as if you are speaking to…” He struggled to think of the word for a moment, “speaking about a computer. A device that stores information.” 

Desmond blinked before speaking slowly, “I am not a computer, I was talking about myself.” And Arno immediately gives him a look that makes him feel every bit like an idiot, “I am very well aware of that, but why do you speak of your memory like it is a computer those people retrieve information from?”

And he is suddenly reminded of the tree of probability and the woman by his side, in a place called the Gray. His vocabulary, the way he speaks and thinks all comes from his time spent in the Gray. Even though he can’t remember his time there he knows the words he used felt right in there, but not quite right here.

“I don’t know,” Desmond replied honestly, and they resumed eating.

Unlike Altair, Ezio seemed quite open about sharing his past- probably to jog his memory. He talked about his life in Florence, the brawls he had against other men who dared to smear grime on his family honor, and his sleepovers at a girls house which Desmond was quick to shut down because no thank you.

Strangely, Desmond finds that he already knew these information. They did not feel new, as if he had heard them before, even experienced some of them. Yet it feels lacking, like a major part of Ezio’s life was not being said out loud. He looks at Arno who has been disinterested with the conversation since the beginning. Ezio was born in the Renaissance Era and Arno offhandedly mentioned living during the French Revolution, Desmond finds it odd he was the only person closest to the modern time.

They finally managed to get Arno into a discussion regarding food but was immediately cut short, the lady returning and saying she has to bring Desmond back. “But don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll see each other again soon,” she chirps as Desmond got up from his seat. As he left the dining hall a few things dawned on him.

One, Ezio had a scar the same place as Altair. Two, there was a strange branding on Ezio’s finger on the same hand where Altair’s own finger is missing. Three, Arno shows no similarities among the others.

This led him to wonder.

“Could I use a mirror? There is none in my toilet and I haven’t seen myself since I returned.” Desmond asked as he noticed he was being brought back into the interrogation looking room again. “Oh, of course. I hope you don’t mind if you use my compact mirror instead, they didn’t install a mirror in the toilets because we worry about our patients getting hurt.” She explains while handing him a round mirror from across the table. Desmond nods his head in understanding as he flips the mirror open.

Huh, so that’s why Altair wanted to know about him.

There was something unsettling about looking athis face and not recognizing himself but Altair. The similarities he and Altair share in their facial features were quite alarming, he even has a lip scar on the same place as Altair! Desmond blinked and handed back the mirror without a word, she took it back and continued. “Do you know them, Arno and Ezio.”

In another time, Desmond thinks he would have. Before his death, he thinks he might have, just not through normal circumstances. “Ezio is...Familiar. I don’t know about Arno, I’m pretty sure this is my first time meeting him. Did… Did I die here?” He asks. “Like, did I die in this place and you guys brought me back. And Arno was brought back while I was gone, so that’s why I recognize Ezio but not Arno..”

“No, you nearly did but we got you just in time before you were gone.” She hesitates, “I’m not sure if I can tell you why you don’t recognize Arno. Please don’t take it personally.” Desmond frowned and she seemed nervous all of a sudden, quick to reassure him even though he felt fine. “I know you’re frustrated but please remain calm, there’s no need to get agitated over this. When I can I will answer but I’m not authorized to shared all the information I know.” The woman was looking at his hands and he pulled them off the table so she could not see.

“It’s… alright. Are we continuing the memory recall again?” Desmond watched as her expression changed from anxious to relieved, he didn’t understand why she reacted that way.

“Yes, if that’s alright? Could you tell me what you can recall now? I’ll be comparing it to your previous testament.”

Alright, he can do this, time to try again.

He recounts the same things as he did previously but his mind drifts to Altair and Ezio, Desmond was quick to clarify that he might be mixing up his memories with people he knew in the past and she seemed understanding.

In the end he was sent back to his cell to rest, which was probably for the best because as he sat down he realized how exhausted he was from today. Desmond huffed a squeak from how hard he flopped on his back and knocked the air out of himself. 

Thinking of Arno brings no emotions to the surface, like he was a blank slate in Desmond’s locked memories. No matter how hard he recalled Arno’s features, the short interactions they had, he can think of nothing.

Ezio on the other hand, brings a lot of unwanted emotions. Grief was the strongest. Desmond could only feel regret and a sense of longing when he thinks about Ezio. Mourning for strangers who left too early, wishing and pleading to the unknown for a reason as to why he had to endure life the way it is. Desmond feels like he should understand Ezio intimately but here he is, remembering nothing but whispers of what he should know.

As for Altair, it was hard to say. He felt detached from him, as if there was not enough tissue to connect them together. He was crucial to something, that much he knew. Altair was the start, but not the end, and again he might be the start. Desmond ponders about how he could find more ways to talk to Altair or Ezio, there was a connection there and if he wanted to find answers they were his likely options. As for Arno, he’ll have to see.

Now that he thought about it, why were they brought back when they have been dead for so long?

The ceiling lights dimmed after a minute and Desmond’s mind continued to whirl about before settling down and sinking into the quiet.

———

He was running, across tiled rooftops with a man dressed in white in front of him. Someone was laughing and he thinks it’s the person, Desmond hears himself puff a laugh.

The air felt crisp as they ran across the roofs, there was a large channel of water nearby that could be crossed by the massive cobblestone bridge on it and many stalls line up at the bottom of the buildings that have been built by the river. 

When he looked away from his surroundings to find the other man, he found himself standing in the Gray again, and she was there standing in front of him facing the tree of probabilities.

“You… must be really tired of living here after so long huh.” She turns her head to him, “will I be like you too? Grow tired of this place, staring at numbers and calculations at every second, lying to myself that I am okay with it. That I have accepted my fate.”

Desmond says nothing and she looks down, away from him. “Maybe I was too quick to accept my death and be by your side, but at that time it was either succumbing to the staff after years of suffering or this. Painless and easy to slip into. But I knew that you’d be here helping, working through all these predictions and that I wouldn’t be alone.”

She looks back at him, “you’re leaving now. What is it like being alone here?”

He finds himself opening his mouth to answer her but she was quicker, raising her hand up to interrupt him. “Stop.” She says, “you don’t have to tell me anything, I don’t want to know. As someone who was once human, let me have this moment to feel ignorant again. Life then felt a lot easier than now.

Honestly, Desmond, I’m surprised you wanted to go back to the world after all the shit they put you through.” He couldn’t help but quirk a small smile at her even if she couldn’t see, the smile was dropped the moment she turned to look at him again. “We’re in this together Desmond, whatever happens I’ll do what I can to make sure you’re safe out there.”

———

Desmond opens his eyes and stares at the darkened ceiling, it was the end of the day judging from how significantly darker the room felt compared to when he was just falling asleep.

He listens to his own breathing in the dark, every inhale is shaky. With another shaky inhale he sits himself back up and leans against the cool walls. He thinks about the dream he had, or was it a memory?

Was he dreaming or remembering snippets of his past every time he slept? Or was the Gray where he went to every time he fell asleep, what was the Gray exactly? Those dreams he had, they were so real, like he really did live through them, that he lived in the Gray. Was that person in the Gray real? She said she used to be human...

Wetting his lips he tries to open his mouth, to say something. It was a shot in the dark, what he was about to do but it wasn’t like there would be consequences for it if it didn’t work. So he speaks.

“Layla, if you’re out there making sure I’m safe… or whatever. Give me a sign.”

There was nothing.

Well, he tried. Feeling self conscious he scrubbed one of his cheek as if he could shed off the flush that bloomed on his face and tried to lie back down to sleep only to nearly knee himself in the face when his cell door started wailing. He didn’t even know it had an alarm until now.

Desmond stared at the door and stayed where he was until the alarm was turned off by someone cursing from the outside and a pair of guards barged into the room with another employee. “I didn’t do anything! It just started by itself!” He defended, immediately standing up and taking a few steps back as if to keep them away from him, the employee went to check something in his tablet and a flash of irritation crossed his tired features. “The door must be defective.” 

They were probably looking at the hidden cameras installed in his room or something, seeing as how they did not even try to interrogate or accuse him for attempting to break out.

The employee looked at Desmond, “I’ll see to it that your door doesn’t do that again, now rest.” The employee turned to the guards and Desmond could just make out the words. “Keep watch, this could be a breach.”

They all left quietly and he dropped himself back to the floor with a quiet groan. He curled into his side to sleep again but couldn’t help but think that was too much of a coincidence.

“Take your time,” he muttered drowsily, exhaustion quickly gripping him. “I know you’ll get me out of here soon.

And thanks, Layla.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll update the tags when the characters do make longer appearances


End file.
